Recoil
by Miran Anders
Summary: Post Point Blank.  Peter reacts to Neal's actions, and Neal considers what he's done.  Spoiler alert for finale.  A friendship tried to the breaking point.  I've added the sequential scene, MOZZIE INCARNATE.
1. A Shot in the Dark

After _Point Blank_, I needed some resolve... I couldn't just wait for January. And so, this one-shot... Thanks for reading.

Please be aware that I own nothing of **_White Collar_** - and that there are spoilers in here for the season finale.

* * *

Neal's expression abruptly changed from defiance to fear, and the words spilled out a bit more quickly than he expected. "I wasn't there alone".

Agent Burke felt a familiar tingle as his brain shifted into overdrive. "Mozzie?"

"Yeah. He –"

Ignoring him, Peter turned to Diane. "Have headquarters post a guard outside this room." He glanced sideways at Neal, who rolled his eyes. "In fact, have them post someone in here. House arrest." His eyes were cold as he holstered his weapon, shaking his head at the criminal he had thought he was beginning to understand. "I don't trust him not to bolt. _Again_."

"Hey –" Neal stopped abruptly as Peter turned, every inch the Federal agent. There was ice in his expression, and it hurt Neal to see it. "Let me help. You won't know where to look."

"Don't be too sure."

"Come on! This is _Moz_ we're talking about…"

Peter took a step forward. Anyone else would have stepped back in the force of that expression, but Neal held his ground as the agent growled quietly in his face. "You think I don't keep an eye on _him_? But if you know something, you better tell me where to look."

"Let me come–"

"No." The word dropped like a brick between them. "Tell me where to look."

Neal smiled, falling back on a charm offensive. "Peter –"

The charm failed miserably. "Just tell me. Or have you decided to betray _him_, too?"

Neal's eyes widened. Suddenly, he looked quite a bit younger, and fear flashed in blue eyes. For the life of him he wasn't sure what scared him more – Peter's anger or worry for Mozzie's life. "I didn't betray you. I- I just needed to know."

"You scammed me. Made me look like an idiot at my own job. What do you think that is?" Neal opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out. "We don't have time for this. I've got to find Moz before someone kills him." Peter swept out the door, leaving Neal staring after him.

Diane sighed, shook her head, and pulled out her cell phone as she closed the door. "Berrigan here. We need a guard for Caffrey. At the house. Okay."

"Diane…"

"Don't talk to me, Neal. Just… don't." She slipped her phone back into her pocket and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.

"I did what I had to do."

"Bullshit."

"Look, you don't know –"

Her dark eyes flashed as she turned them on him, stepping toward him and flipping her long hair back over her shoulder angrily. "Listen. All I know is that Peter Burke is the best agent I know. The best _man_ I know. And you hung around here, making plans and making nice and _pretending_ until he trusted you – and then you used it against him." She stared for a moment before dismissing him with a glance, leaning back against the wall and staring out toward the darkening windows. "Pack of lies. Just a pack of lies. And I fell for it too. Because he did."

Neal lifted his hands against her tirade without realizing it. Flustered, he blurted out, "I wasn't playing anyone, Diana. It wasn't _all_ a lie."

Her eyes rolled toward him, and he marveled as she suddenly became calm, as he had so often seen Peter react when emotions were getting the best of him during a case. Her voice was now quite flat, although slightly sarcastic. "Not _all_ a lie. How... reassuring."

He stared at her for a long minute. "You're just going to stand there?"

Her eyes locked his in a stony gaze. "Only until my relief gets here."

Caffrey stared at her for another moment, then shook his head and pulled out his phone, hitting a number on the speed dial. He waited impatiently for the beep. "Peter, Moz usually goes to the diner across from the park on Sundays – there's a waitress who might have seen him." He paused, his expression changing, opened his mouth as if he were going to say something else, then shook his head and snapped his phone shut. "What's the use."

* * *

Peter listened to the message and swore softly, maneuvering the car in a tight turn back the way he had come, then cutting down Fifth toward the park. He remembered the diner. Moz had met them there, once. The agent took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Dammit, the eccentric little con man had grown on him. Once he talked to the diner staff, he'd have to start checking the hospitals … and the morgue.

Right now he had slow traffic, too many feelings, and nowhere to put them. Shaking his head, he punched a button on the phone as he made his way uptown. A warmingly familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

"El? It's me. Got a minute?"

"For you?" He could hear the smile in her voice from across the city. "Anytime, handsome." Her voice shifted gently, more concerned. "What's going on?"

* * *

Three hours later Peter pulled into his driveway, having made the long drive largely by instinct. Yes, the cashier at the diner had seen Moz, he'd bought a tea to go and walked across the street after polite small talk. It sounded like he had to meet someone. No, they hadn't seen what happened to him, things got busy and they weren't watching. Peter had crossed the street and found blood on a bench. A distressing amount of blood, actually, and fresh. He had called forensics and then put his team on hospital watch… and if he didn't get a shower and a little rest, he wouldn't be any good to anyone. He walked into his home, bone weary, and Elizabeth embraced him with concern.

"Anything?"

"Nothing yet. But then, it's Moz."

"I was thinking that. He wouldn't be carrying ID."

"Right."

She rubbed her hand up his arm, a tight smile trying to reassure him as she spoke softly. "I'm sure he'll turn up, Peter."

He gave her a rueful grin. "Dead or alive?" Her eyes teared up at that, and he hugged her hard. "Sorry, sweetheart. It's just…"

"I know." She looked uncomfortable, but went on. "There's someone here to see you –"

They looked into each other's eyes. His, puzzled, hers, projecting a plea for calm reason. Suddenly his head tipped as his shoulders dropped. "No. He can't be here."

"Jones brought him. Just talk to him."

"Jones? Why the hell –" His arm lifted of its own volition, pointing toward the living room where he assumed Neal would be waiting. "Elizabeth, he took advantage of me. Played me for a fool."

Her voice was a bare whisper, couched in a sad smile. "He's just a kid, Peter." Her eyes were full of compassion as she looked at her husband. Compassion for him, and compassion for their young friend. "You said that once."

Peter dropped his outstretched arm and stared at her. They had discussed in the past how difficult Neal's upbringing must have been. How he pretty much brought himself up, taught himself how to survive, learned how to con and steal… but not how to trust. You need someone else to learn that. Someone who would be there no matter what… and for many long years, there had been no one else. In some ways, Neal was no more than a troubled adolescent.

"El… He played me. Probably from the beginning. I'm just a shill to him. I'm just another pawn in the great chess game of Neal Caffrey." Elizabeth looked at him, rested her head on his chest, and they stood together for a moment until they heard a voice at the kitchen door.

"No, you're not." A rather bedraggled looking con man stood there, hesitant and unsure. His eyes, normally so bright, were faded like a stormy sky as he looked at the man who had become more than a mentor to him. He shook his head. "Peter. I'm -"

The agent cut him off harshly. "Not now." Peter took El's hand, and they spoke without words. When he looked back to Caffrey, his voice was deceptively calm. "I can't listen to you. Not now." He gave El's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then turned and walked upstairs without another word.

"Peter..." The younger man called up the stairs and stopped, defeat washing over him. He lifted his arms in a shrug, and dropped them helplessly to his sides. "He's never going to forgive me."

Elizabeth watched him carefully, her voice level. "Do you want him to?"

"Do I want him to?" He looked at her, and his eyes grew wide once more. "What do you think? You- you don't believe me either? Of course. Neither of you will ever forgive me. You both think I'm just…" He turned and walked into the living room, dropping into a chair with an unusual lack of grace. "Just a con man. Just a crook." He put his hands over his face, and she could see him struggling to keep his composure. "I'm going back to prison, aren't I."

Her head dropped to one side as she considered him. "What do you expect?" She took a seat across from him and waited. He didn't say anything, and she took a deep breath. "Neal. Why didn't you just tell him what you wanted to do? Why did you have to pull this elaborate con?"

His voice was muffled under his hands. "Because I needed to know. And it wasn't exactly legal." Her laugh made him drop his hands to look at her, and she could see his eyes were wet.

"Right. 'Cause the FBI follows all the rules." She stood and walked into the kitchen, returning with her coffee mug and a glass of water for Neal. "Here." He nodded thanks, and she stood over him. "I think you just fell back into old patterns. You were scared, and you decided not to trust him. It isn't fair, Neal. When all he's ever done is try to keep you on track, and help you find out whatever he could about Kate. Do you have any idea how many evenings he was researching? Meeting with Diana? Honestly…" She was standing, looking down at him, and sounding more like an angry older sister than an angry, betrayed woman. It somehow gave him hope.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Elizabeth?" She looked at him, rolled her eyes at his earnest expression, and sighed.

"What?"

He reached out for her hand, and she gave it, hesitantly. "I'm sorry. Really. I don't know if I'll have a chance to make up for it, but if it means anything to you… I'm so sorry."

She exhaled and took her hand back. "I'm not the one you hurt. Not the only one, anyway."

"Yeah, but I don't think he'll ever speak to me again."

El put her hand on his tousled head. "Neal. He said 'not now'. He needs some time to figure out how he wants to handle things." She smiled a little. "I know him."

"Right." The con man dropped his head back in the chair. "I probably don't deserve another chance."

He stared at the floor, looking so forlorn that she almost laughed as she ruffled his hair. "Don't be so sure. He even gave Fowler another chance."

His eyes lifted to hers, and a bit of the blue brightened hopefully. "Do you think-"

The noise of shoes pounding down the stairs made them turn. Peter was running, tucking in his shirt, his phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear. "Right. Which one? Got it. Good work." He looked at Elizabeth and Neal. "They found him."

"Where?"

"Downtown Hospital. Alive but critical. Shot in the chest. What? He said what?" He looked at them in astonishment as he spoke into the phone once more. "Okay. On my way." Pocketing his phone, he shook his head at his wife. "He was conscious for a few minutes, and they asked if they should call anyone… he said 'Mrs. Suit'."

Elizabeth blinked once, and moved toward the hall closet to grab her coat. "Let's go."

Neal had automatically straightened his jacket and hair. "Jones is outside -"

Peter responded briskly. "I'll tell him to take you home."

Neal took a step closer to him, his eyes questioning. "Wait. I'm coming with you. It's Moz, Peter."

Peter turned, and for a moment bitterness got the best of him, and he didn't sound like himself at all. "It's outside your radius, Caffrey." Neal jerked back as if he had been slapped, but it was Elizabeth's quiet gasp that made Peter stop and look at her. What he saw there was surprise, but under it, confidence that he would do the right thing - plus reassurance that even if he didn't, she would stand by him. Her calm strength made it easier for him to pause, take a moment, and look at the young man standing there like a whipped pup.

It was far too easy to imagine in those youthful features a much younger man, a child, perhaps; just as browbeaten by someone who had authority over him, standing with fear and something else in his eyes. _Lack_. A lack that he was still trying to fill.

Peter looked back at El and nodded, a hint of smile softening his features. Then he grabbed the doorknob and threw a look at his erstwhile partner. Almost against his will, Peter found his hand resting on the younger man's shoulder. "Come on, Neal. I'll tell Jones you're with me."

Neal seemed closer to tears than he was before. "Thank you. Really." Peter sighed and nodded as Caffrey headed out the door. The blue in the younger man's eyes was shining brighter as he turned back to call to them. "I'll tell Jones. You start the car."

As their con man ran down the sidewalk, Elizabeth grabbed Peter and held him tightly, giving him a warm kiss. "You're a good man, Peter Burke."

He pulled back to look at her and then took her hand as they ran down the walk after Neal, mumbling gruffly. "And I thought we were going to _wait_ to have children…"


	2. John Doe is Dead

It started to rain slowly, the drops sliding in oily trails down the car windows, and the dark streets were shining slicks of reflected light as Peter guided the Taurus through the city to Downtown Hospital. Elizabeth leaned over, murmured something to Peter while they waited for a red light, and he responded just as quietly. She realized when she turned to check on Neal that they needn't have bothered trying to be quiet. He was sitting silently in the back seat, just staring out the side window. His hand was clenched in a fist and held tight against his mouth. In fact, she spoke his name twice before he blinked and looked at her.

"Sorry. What?"

"I just said we're nearly there."

Neal nodded and glanced at her quickly. It seemed he was trying to say something, but nothing came out. El gave him a small, sympathetic smile and reached back, holding out her hand. He stared at it for a moment, then took it in his own cold, tense fingers, and held on for the rest of the ride. The con man couldn't even look her in the eye. He just nodded, gave her hand a squeeze, and stared back out the window. Clearly he didn't trust his voice. And the frigid energy he felt coming from the driver's side wasn't helping. _He's letting me come along,_ he thought,_ but only because it's Moz_. _ After this…_ Peter's strong baritone broke into his reverie.

"Here we are." They parked - illegally - and dashed inside.

The nurse at the duty desk looked tired. Her blond hair was losing its curl, and the stack of paperwork in front of her was clearly doing nothing for her morale. Elizabeth stepped up and spoke first. "Excuse me. We're here to see Mozzie."

The nurse frowned and stared at her. "Mozzie who?" Elizabeth opened her mouth and then looked at Peter, while Neal stood wide-eyed, knowing how Moz hated exposure to the system.

Peter stepped up to the counter. "He was brought in a couple hours ago – chest wound?"

The blond nurse looked at the board and nodded. "Well, we may have someone who fits that description… but the doctor only wants family to see him."

"Okay." Agent Burke reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around his identification. "Can I talk to Dr. Anderson, then?"

"The chief of staff? At this hour?" The nurse began to protest that this was impossible, but stopped dead as she saw a woman walk up behind them – a silver-haired woman in her fifties, in a tasteful black gown. "Dr. Anderson?" The nurse repeated, a bit more shocked.

"Pick up your jaw, Jacquie, it's just an evening gown. And give me the chart for 312. Just transferred up from ICU." Jacquie fumbled for the charts as Dr. Anderson glanced over her reading glasses at the threesome. "You'll have to forgive her, they forget the chief of staff has a life outside of the hospital." With a bit of a glare for Peter, she added, "Sometimes." Taking the chart from the still startled nurse, she gestured for them to follow her and walked to the elevator while reviewing notes. When the door closed safely behind them, she slipped out of her shoes and picked them up, her eyes never leaving the information on the chart. Holding them by the heel straps on one finger, she gestured with them toward Neal. "Hold these."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but took the strappy black heels gingerly before looking at Elizabeth helplessly. The doctor glanced away from the chart and looked at him briefly. "Thank you. They're fine for sitting, not so much for the hospital." Then, without waiting for a response, she turned to Peter. "Well, Agent Burke… what can I do for you? "

"I'm sorry, Paula. I know it's late –"

She held up a hand to stop him. "Peter, my date will wait. Is _waiting_, as a matter of fact. I know you wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. Hello, Elizabeth." The women looked at each other, smiling politely even though this meeting was so out of context for them. "I don't recall him ever dragging you into one of these. What's our John Doe have to do with my favorite planner?"

Elizabeth smiled wanly. "He asked for me."

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "Really. Part of your event staff, perhaps?" A trace of sardonic smile crossed her lips, and Elizabeth shook her head with a grin.

"Just a friend. A good friend." Peter brushed a hand over her shoulder and left it there, hearing her worry.

Neal looked at them, still holding the shoes, and realized she was being totally sincere. _Good old Elizabeth. She'll probably even visit me in prison._

Peter broke in softly. "We need to ID him positively. If it is our John Doe, he may have to die."

The casual statement took a moment to register with Neal. "What? What are you –"

"Shut up, Neal." Peter didn't look away from the doctor, and she nodded.

"One of these days, Agent Burke, you'll come in with something that doesn't cause quite so much paperwork. And doesn't break my intern's hearts. They were so sure they had saved this one." The elevator doors opened, and they walked down to room 312.

A soft light emanated from the many machines that were hooked up to the man lying there. He was pale, very pale, and looked fragile, even a bit pathetic as he lie there. Elizabeth took a deep breath and stepped quickly to the bedside, taking his limp hand in her own. She leaned over and whispered quietly. "I'm here, Mozzie. It's okay. We're going to take care of everything." She smiled. "Mrs. Suit is here. So are the boys." Then she just stood, running her other hand gently over his.

Neal swallowed hard, frowning, seeing only a monstrosity of tubes keeping his friend alive. "Is he… going to be… I mean…"

Peter took a deep breath and looked back at the doctor, speaking quietly. "That's him. Unfortunately, John Doe has to have died in a drive by shooting."

Dr. Anderson opened the chart again and sighed. "Too bad. He's stable, sedated, the prognosis is good." She made a couple notes, and walked to the door. "I'll be right back." Then, taking her shoes from Neal's limp hand, she slipped out into the hall.

"Died? What do you mean? Look at him. He's breathing! Peter, you can't just -"

Agent Burke swung around to look at Caffrey, quite ready to tell him to shut up again – but stopped when he saw the younger man's expression. He'd seen Neal upset, certainly, and concerned… but never as frightened and confused as he looked right now, not even when the plane took Kate. For someone who professed to be a professional con artist, Caffrey just wasn't getting it.

"Neal. Neal!"

Blue eyes tore away from where Moz lay, and grazed past Peter's face without seeing. Their expression gave the agent real concern. He'd seen plenty of people break down, but seeing the ever-smooth Neal Caffrey beginning to crack was a bit too much. "Neal, listen to me. He's not dead. Okay? Come here." Peter spoke calmly but firmly, put a hand on they younger man's back and guided him to Moz's bedside, opposite Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, seeing Peter's concern, gave Neal a reassuring smile. "You can talk to him, Neal. They say people under sedation hear a lot." The young con man reached toward Moz, but he couldn't quite bring himself to touch his hand – in case it was as cold and dead as he feared. As cold as he had imagined all evening. _Death. More death. First Kate, now Moz…_ Fear paralyzed him as he stood there.

Peter stood at his side, watching carefully. He was having enough trouble with how the little man looked - thank God for Elizabeth, she always seemed to know how to get past appearances at times like this - but Neal looked worse than Mozzie did, in his own way. _The kid is going to snap in a minute_. He reached out and gently eased Neal's hand down to Moz's. "It's okay, Neal. You see? He's alive. Feel the pulse?" He held his hand down for a moment, until he felt the younger man move again.

Caffrey took a long, shuddering breath, and rested his hand on Moz's. "I'm sorry, Moz. I'm sorry I got you into this." His eyes glistened like rain-washed sapphires as the doctor walked back in and motioned Peter over to talk. Elizabeth moved easily to the other side of the bed, putting her arm around Neal's waist as his breath caught with a whisper. "I'm so sorry for everything. Please be okay."

The doctor glanced at the vignette at the bedside briefly, and away again. "So who's in 312?"

Peter looked thoughtful for a moment. "Antonio Mozzelli." That's why the nurse heard us call him 'Moz'."

"Really." The doctor made some notes, and signed a few forms. "Okay. Mr. Mozzelli here is in decent shape, but we're keeping him sedated at least until morning. He's had some surgery on his lungs. Was in a car accident while he was driving and writing – hit a pole, air bag went off, and the pen jabbed right into his chest. Broke part of his ribcage and did some lung damage. You'd almost swear it was a gunshot wound."

Peter gave her a grin and dropped his head. "You sure you don't want to come down and work for us?"

Dr. Anderson looked over her glasses at him. "I believe I already do. Whether I want to or not. By the way, the ER has down that when John Doe was awake, albeit briefly, he was 'excitable, suspicious, and paranoid'." She shook her head. "You realize we can only fix the body."

Elizabeth pulled a chair over for Neal to sit at the bedside, and looked up at the doctor gratefully. "Thanks, Paula. It's just that he's –"

"No, no, thank you. The less I know, the less I know. I'm sure there's something going on here that is none of my concern. The body, however, _whom_ever he may be, is. What I need to know, Peter, is if he's _safe_. And if it's safe for my other patients with him here."

Burke dropped his head to one side. "Since the John Doe is dead, I don't expect any trouble, but I'll keep an agent here at all times while he's recuperating. Starting with – " he looked at the suffering kid at Moz's bedside, and took a breath. "Starting with me and my partner." Neal blinked, slowly turned to look at Burke, unsure that he heard what he thought he heard. _Partner?_

Peter met his eyes with solid, unblinking strength. _Your move._

Neal swallowed hard as he stood up, pushed his hair back and straightened his jacket. He looked Peter in the eye for the first time in hours, and while someone who didn't know him might only see determination, there was vulnerability in the depths of the blue. And a sorrow that was obvious – sorrow for one friend being injured, and sorrow for not realizing how deeply he had betrayed the one person he trusted more than anyone else.

Peter looked at him thoughtfully, a slight frown creasing his brow. "You okay with that, Caffrey, or do you need to go get some sleep?"

"No, I'm good, Peter." He glanced at the floor, then back up to those searching brown eyes. He repeated himself, his inflection a bit different, his tone almost pleading his case. "Really. I'm _good_."

Peter coughed a little laugh and let go of a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His eyes met Elizabeth's smile before he looked back at his partner with a sigh.

"Yeah, Neal. I believe you are."

END

* * *

o

* * *

If you're interested in Mozzie's view, check out "Mozzie Incarnate". Thanks for reading!


	3. Mozzie Incarnate

This was originally written as a separate piece, but I think it should be with the rest of this episode... Sorry if you've read it before and it's reappearing here. Gotta love Moz.

* * *

oOo

* * *

_boom_

Mozzie sat down on the bench, sipped his tea, and looked down the street without trying to appear too anxious. He could actually feel his heart booming in his chest like a bass drum, and frowned at himself. _What am I, sixteen? It might not even… no, it had to be her. Who else would mention the diner in the message? Not to mention how few people knew how to contact me at all… _he had set up the bogus gmail account just so that he could give her an email address. He took a breath and centered himself, thinking of that, and of the letter in his pocket he hadn't had the courage to send. _Maybe I am sixteen._ A quiet little grin lit his eyes as the man walked past.

_Boom_

Years of fear snapped into place as Moz jerked back with the hit, feeling the strange warmth in his chest as his hand found the slippery blood of its own accord. _I've been set up_ registered with a pang of disappointment even before _damn it, I've been shot_. He tried to focus his qi as he looked up at the man, his consciousness already blurring. He felt himself get frisked, the letter slip from his pocket. It all happened so quickly, he barely had time to marshal his thoughts. Who could possibly help him? He hadn't even told Neal about the message –

_boom_

The world slid back into focus, briefly. He heard a voice. "My God. Oh, God… Hello, yes, a man's been shot." It was a woman's voice, and he tried to focus on her… but it was getting harder to breathe, and the sun turned her into a cut paper silhouette. He noticed the smell of her perfume, a soft, jasmine-touched sandalwood. "Hang on. Just… God… they'll be here soon." He blinked his eyes shut again, wanting to tell her something, anything, wanting some decent possible last words, something memorable, something worthy - but nothing came. He struggled to inhale and the pain hit harder. _Maybe I really am dying this time._ As the world faded to black he thought he heard her say, _'hang on, Mozzie…'_

_boom_

"Okay, buddy, hang on. We'll get you to the hospital." _When… when had the paramedics arrived?_ _Hospital? Oh, no, not a hospital…_ He opened his mouth, but even he knew that it was hospital or morgue at this point, and tried to calm his inner paranoid, who clearly wasn't dead yet. "Don't try to talk – your lungs aren't too happy right now. We're gonna take care of you. Okay? Stay with me, buddy. Just stay with me." The EMT slipped an oxygen mask over Moz's head and turned to his partner. "Where's the chick that called him in?"

"Nowhere. Must have freaked out, thinking he was dead. No ID, either."

"Great." He turned back to Moz, fastening the strap on the gurney firmly. "Okay, pal. Here we go. Stay with me." Even though they were as gentle as they could be, the jarring snapped him back into a pit of blackness.

_boom_

His eyes opened as pain lurched though his chest once more, resounding with the beating of his heart. "We've got a pulse! Hang another bag and get me an OR, stat!"

"Did it nick the aorta?"

"No, just everything else. Missed the heart by about a centimeter. Chips everywhere, though. That lung's going to go in a minute. Come on, people."

"Doctor. He's conscious." The doctor leaned in, suddenly speaking more confidently to a patient. "All right, sir. We're going to take care of this, get you all patched up. Just hang in there." Moz tried to speak, but nothing came out. _When did they put in a breathing tube? _ "I know, it feels strange, but don't fight it. One of your lungs wants to collapse, and we're not going to let that happen." The con man scratched his finger on the sheet, and the doctor stared at him briefly, then nodded. "Somebody give me a pen." He propped the pen in Moz's fingers and slipped a chart under it. "You want to say something?" The scrawl was far from pretty, faint, spidery letters that overlaid the medical information. The doctor read it with some difficulty. "Someone you want us to call? Blink twice for 'yes'." Moz blinked twice, then squinted hard, his eyes registering pain. "Okay, hang on, we'll do what we can." Turning toward a nurse, he yelled, "Morphine, now!" Within seconds the drugs took effect, and Moz settled into the black river once more.

"What did he write?"

The doctor discarded the hypo and looked away from the monitors for a moment, shaking his head. "Mrs… Suit?" The nurse looked at him blankly and he nodded. "It was worth a try. Maybe it means something to someone. Let's go, people!"

_boom_

_boom_

_boom_

A soft hand took his. "It's okay Moz. I'm here. Mrs. Suit is here." He felt the energy of the woman standing there flood over him in a calming, soothing wave. Farther off he could feel someone else_, must be the Suit, _and something more tense than either of them… young, warm, familiar and easy for him to connect to, but more frightened than he'd ever known that spirit to be. _ Come on, Neal, that energy isn't helping me any. Stop thinking I'm going to die! I might believe you! You know how suggestible I am! _He was distracted by this strange way of perceiving the people around him, and it gave him pause._ Maybe I _am_ going to die? Maybe I'm halfway there? It hurts so much… Maybe it would be easier… _ the darkness settled around him once more, but somehow less intensely. Was it his imagination that felt someone else nearby, someone he had spoken to recently? And whose voice said, in that charming Japanese accent, _'Go home, Mochi. You have too much to do.' _ He tried to see the speaker, but it grew more and more misty. Exhausted, the river settled down to its endless flow. Dark, quiet, peaceful. Moz slipped into it and slept.

_boom_

It was quiet. Unusually quiet, for any room that held Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey at the same time. They sat in guest chairs near the hospital bed; Peter, looking at a file that Diana dropped off for him, Neal, staring blankly at his friend as the machines did most of the work of keeping him alive, letting his body work on the harder task of healing.

Peter glanced up from the files, as he had every few minutes since they got here, and looked at the monitors attached to the little con man. Everything looked the same, so he assumed he was still okay – and then he looked over to Neal. He spoke softly into the medical silence. "Hey. You all right?"

Caffrey startled, looked over at him. "Me? Yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

"Because you don't look so good. Maybe you should head home for a while –"

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until I'm sure he's going to be okay."

Peter sighed. He knew far too well that it could take an awfully long time for 'okay' to appear on a chart, especially after a gunshot wound. "Neal…"

"I'm staying." They younger man blinked hard, stood up restlessly, exhausted but determined to stay awake. "I'm fine." He looked back toward the bed, and his features changed. "I wish he was."

"Neal." Peter closed the file and looked up at his young charge. "They say the signs are good. It's just going to take some time."

Neal shrugged, nodded, and shook his head. He leaned over Mozzie and spoke quietly, as he had been doing every half hour or so since they started their vigil. "Come on, Moz. You can do this. I'm sorry…"

Peter watched him and felt his heart sinking. _Why are some lessons so hard to learn? And why do life lessons have such high tuition? What would happen to Neal if Moz didn't make it? _Distracted, his eyes lifted to one of the monitor screens. Something seemed different, but he wasn't sure what. "Neal. Was that –"

The door opened and Doctor Anderson walked in. She was wearing a long lab coat over deep green scrubs, and gave Peter a brief smile before she stepped up to the monitor he had been studying and switched it off. Looking at Neal leaning over the bed, she tapped on the top of his head with an index finger. "Out of the way, you. I've got work to do." Neal stepped back nervously, but her gaze stayed with the young con man for a few moments. She looked intently at him, and then at Peter. "You two are getting relief or breakfast in the next half hour. I don't have room for two more patients."

Peter chuckled lightly. "Soon."

She looked at him over her reading glasses. "It wasn't a suggestion, Peter. I'm in charge here."

He looked up at her, suddenly in the principal's office. "It's more than a job with this one, Paula."

"I know. So get someone to do the job part, and at least get some food. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am." He pulled out his cell and texted Diana for backup.

A young nurse came into the room to assist, and with practiced efficiency they pulled the breathing tube, checked the IV, and recorded various numbers off the monitors. Anderson put her stethoscope to Mozzie's chest, and listened critically for several minutes. When she stood again, Neal was watching her face for any clue, his own expression more telling than any con man's should be.

"Is he okay? Will he be?"

She smiled benignly. "He's breathing on his own, the repair work we had to do is holding up nicely." In a rather motherly way she rested a hand on Mozzie's forehead for a moment. "I think he'll be fine. This one is stronger than he looks." She grinned warmly at her patient, then looked up at Peter and Neal. "He may come around soon. Keep him quiet, if you can, I'd rather he kept sleeping."

Neal's face lit up, his eyes bright in spite of his exhaustion. He looked at his partner. "He's gonna be okay, Peter."

Burke smiled gently. "I heard." He shook his head at his partner, but he couldn't help smiling at the surge of relief he felt. "I'll have to call El."

The younger man leaned over the bed to whisper. "Way to go, Moz." Then, Neal frowned slightly. Reaching for the side table, he picked up Moz's glasses and gently placed them on his sleeping friend's face. Somehow it made the wounded man look stronger, and Neal grinned approvingly. Appearances were important. Moz taught him that. He softly ran his hand back over Moz's head as he lie there, and whispered. "There. Now if you wake up, at least you'll be able to see."

Dr. Anderson and Peter exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Peter took a deep breath. "Paula, thank you."

The doctor waved her hand dismissively. "He did most of the work himself. He'll need some time to recuperate… Perhaps outside of my hospital?" Her expression was compassionate but practical. Agent Burke nodded.

"I think I've got just the place. How long before we can move him?"

Doctor Anderson looked down at the chart and frowned lightly. "I'd like him here a full day. After tonight, all things being equal… you do have someone to keep an eye on him, yes? I mean someone with medical experience?"

"We do." Peter turned to Neal, who was looking more and more positive. "Neal. You check with June – I can't see her minding. I'll talk to Hughes about finances." He stood and stretched, looking down at the bed with a fond grin. "Looks like you won't be reincarnated anytime soon, Mozzie. Congratulations." He dropped a hand gently on the blanket covering the little man's foot. "I'm glad." Then, looking back to his partner, he said, "We have relief coming."

"I'm relieved already."

Dr. Anderson turned to go. "Good. Then leave him alone for a while. We'll know if he needs anything." As she and the nurse left the room, Diana walked in, leaving a second agent at the door.

"Agents Berrigan and Jones reporting, sir." She looked at the man in the bed and an uncharacteristically gentle expression crossed her face. "How is he?"

Neal looked at her like a kid at Christmas, his eyes bright and voice sounding just as young. "He's going to be okay. They said so."

Peter shushed them both. "Let's take this outside. Come on, people."

Neal was the last one out, and looked back from the door just before it closed. "We're just going to get some food, Moz. I'll be back." His eyes betrayed him slightly, and he whispered quietly, "I'm so glad you're okay."

The door closed softly behind him, and for a few moments it was quiet in the room. Just the soft, rhythmic hums of the monitors providing a kind of white noise.

Slowly, the little man in the bed opened one eye part way, darted a glance back and forth suspiciously, and closed it again with a bit of relieved sigh.

_I thought they'd never leave._

And as he relaxed back into a surprisingly comfortable sleep, he smiled.

* * *

oOo


End file.
